If You Lived Here, You'd Be Home Now

by Claire Lazebnik

  “Let me make one thing perfectly clear,” my mother said. “It is never about money. I just want to see you doing something with your life. I don’t care what it is: finish up college, get an internship, write a screenplay, whatever. Just find something you love and start doing it.”

  “And dress the way you want me to. You forgot that one.”

  She heaved an overly dramatic sigh. “Grow up, Rickie.”

  “We’ll move out, if that’s what you want,” I said. “I’ll send Noah to public school and get a menial job of some sort and we’ll live in an apartment somewhere. Would that make you happy?”

  “No,” she said calmly. “Would it make you happy?”

  I raised my chin defiantly. “Maybe.”

  “I want Noah to have a good life and a good education,” she said. “The way things are now, I don’t think you’re capable of providing him with either without our help.”

  That hurt. I knew I wasn’t doing much with my life, but I thought I was a pretty good mom to Noah. There was a pause. I didn’t want to say anything because I didn’t want her to hear my voice break and I wasn’t sure I could control it.

  She pushed back her chair and got to her feet. “Rickie,” she said gently and started to put her arms around me. I flinched and ducked away from her touch. Then I left the room.

  I left the pants in a heap on her bed and neither of us mentioned them again.

  When I checked my e-mails later that day, I had a short one from my friend Monica, who had finished law school the year before and now lived in Manhattan, where she worked about a hundred hours a week and devoted whatever free time she had left to doing pro bono work for various civil liberties groups.

  She and I had run our high school newspaper together, co-editors-in-chief. When I got into Berkeley, she was a little jealous because she didn’t. She went instead to a small private school on the East Coast where she totally kicked ass, which is how she ended up at NYU Law School, where she also totally kicked ass.

  In retrospect, Berkeley probably should have bet on her, not me.

  I also had an e-mail from Coach Andrew. It was short. “I can come on Sunday from 9 to 11 to work with Noah on some skills. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll assume the time works for you and that the directory address is correct. Don’t forget the cupcakes.” It was signed “Andrew.”

  My finger gently danced on the touchpad, positioning the cursor over the Reply button, but I didn’t click it.

  Having the school coach come to our house because my kid was a loser was awkward. Paying him in cupcakes instead of money was awkward. Insisting on giving him money when he had already refused it was awkward.

  But telling him not to come seemed like the most awkward thing of all.

  I closed his e-mail without replying.

  Ryan called me on my cell that night, right after I’d put Noah to bed.

  “So what are you up to right now?” He sounded a little drunk. Not the first time he’d called me in that condition.

  “Nothing.”

  “Then come over. I’ll be leaving town again before you know it. We have to get in some quality family time while we can.”

  “This counts as family time?”

  “Sure,” he said. “We’re strengthening the in-law bonds.”

  “We’re not going to be in-laws much longer.”

  “We’ll always have a niece and nephew in common, right?”

  “How old are they?” I asked suddenly.

  “What?”

  “How old are Nicole and Cameron?”

  “Why?”

  “I was just wondering if you knew.”

  “Nicole’s older, right?”

  “Never mind,” I said. “I’ll be there in an hour.”

  “I get the sense you’re mad at me,” Ryan said later that evening.

  “And that explains my driving all the way here to see you… how?”

  “Seriously. You seem weird tonight.”

  “Do I?” I thought for a moment. We were both on his bed, watching SNL. We’d already had wine and sex. In that order. And then more wine. “I don’t know. I guess sometimes it strikes me that this is a little… you know… pointless.”

  He shifted his body a few inches away from me. “This isn’t going to be one of those talks, is it? About how I can’t commit?”

  “Have I ever said anything like that?”

  “No,” he said, relenting. “I’m sorry. Guess I’m thinking of someone else.” He flashed a brief grin. “A couple of someone elses, actually.”

  I studied his face for a moment. “Do you ever think that maybe you guys got a little screwed up about fidelity and commitment?” I asked. “You and Gabriel?”

  “It is one of those talks!” he said accusingly.

  “No, really. I’m just thinking out loud. I don’t have a problem with your total lack of commitment. I kind of like it. And at least you’re consistent. Unlike your brother. He tried settling down and look where that led.”

  “Are we back to talking about that?”

  I slid off of the bed. “We’re not talking about anything. And I have to go.”

  “Don’t forget I leave in December,” he said to my back as I pulled on my clothes. “We don’t have a lot of time.”

  “Call me.”

  So I was thinking about all that stuff when I got home: about Ryan and Gabriel and whether their parents had somehow screwed up their attitudes toward women and relationships, and then I was thinking about myself and how, when I was eighteen years old, I thought it would be great to be all settled down with a kid and a lifetime partner but now that I was in my mid-twenties and my friends were all searching for permanency, I was deliberately having sex with the one guy who I could be sure would never want a serious relationship. Which made me wonder if I was living my life backwards, becoming less and less mature, an emotional Benjamin Button.

  Anyway, I was musing about all that as I came into the house and was absently heading toward the stairs when I heard voices in the kitchen so I changed direction. I peeked in. Dad was sitting at the kitchen table in his bathrobe, his face settled into tired but peaceful lines. Noah sat across from him, sipping a glass of milk. He was wearing an old pair of pajamas that were like a size four or something. He was so thin and the elastic was so shot that he could still get into them, but they were comically tight and short on him.

  Noah was telling Dad about Austin’s birthday party. “I wasn’t very good at the baseball part,” he was saying as I came within earshot, “but I totally ruled at Fenwick Ball.” That was a definite exaggeration—I don’t think he landed a single shot at Fenwick Ball—but I was happy to hear Noah sound even the slightest bit proud of his athletic ability, so I said, “He did great,” as I entered the room.

  “Where were you?” Noah whipped around. “I woke up and you weren’t there.”

  “Sorry. I went out. But I told Aunt Mel to listen for you if you woke up.”

  “I was up anyway,” my father said. “I heard him calling for you.”

  “You should have told me you were going out.” Noah had been perfectly happy alone with my dad a second earlier, but now he was working up some tears. “I woke up and you weren’t there and I was so scared.”

  “Noah, there were three other adults in the house with you. There’s nothing to be scared of. You know that.”

  “You should have told me you were going out.”

  “I didn’t know I was going until after you were already asleep.”

  “Then you should have woken me up. I was scared.”

  He drove me crazy when he got into these never-ending circles of complaints. I was too tired to argue him out of his misery, so I said sharply, “Look, Noah, you’re fine. You were sitting here having a perfectly nice time with Grandpa, so don’t give me a hard time about this. Just go back to bed, okay?”

  “You’re mean,” he said as he got down from his chair. “And I’m sleeping in your bed and you better not move me!” He left t
he room.

  There was a brief pause. Then “Kids,” my father said genially.

  “Was he really upset when he couldn’t find me?”

  “Not that I noticed. I heard him calling and brought him down here and got him some milk. We had a nice chat.”

  “I wish he’d sleep through the night.”

  “That would be nice,” Dad agreed. “He gives you a run for your money, doesn’t he?”

  “You have no idea.”

  “But that’s how it is with kids,” he said, sounding a little like he was reciting something he’d been taught to say. “They make life complicated. But what would we do without them?”

  I leaned against the counter and regarded him. “Do I complicate your life, Dad?”

  “Only in a good way. I enjoy having you around. Always have.”

  “Really?” It suddenly mattered to me that this kind man who shared genetic material with me was glad I existed.

  He held out his arms. “You’ve been a delight since the day you were born, Mel.”

  I went over and hugged him, although I couldn’t help feeling that his praise would have meant a lot more to me if he hadn’t called me by his other daughter’s name.

  Dad went upstairs and I was about to follow him when my eyes fell on the oven and I suddenly remembered I was supposed to bake cupcakes for Coach Andrew.

  It was late and I was exhausted. I thought about putting off the baking until the morning, but that would mean I’d have to wake up early, which sounded even worse than staying up a little while longer. I decided to compromise: bake them now, frost them in the morning. Even if I overslept, I could finish them up while Andrew was playing with Noah.

  It took me a few minutes of searching through the pantry before I remembered that I was out of gluten-free mixes. I had used up the last box the week before. I cursed myself for forgetting to pick up some more.

  Baking from scratch sounded like way too much work at that hour, so I used one of Mom’s regular mixes. I mixed the batter by hand so I wouldn’t wake anyone up with the KitchenAid, and by the time I had filled the cupcake liners and put the pans in the oven, I was pretty wiped out. I went into the family room and watched TV, fighting my eyelids, which kept trying to close, until the cupcakes were done. Then I pulled out the pans and just left them on the stove to cool. I’d deal with them in the morning.

  I saw Eleanor Roosevelt sniffing at that end of the room and hissed at her, “Don’t even think of it!” Then I finally, finally dragged myself up the stairs and did a quick and cursory face-wash and tooth-brush before collapsing onto my bed, where Noah was sprawled across the whole mattress. I shoved him to the side and fell asleep within seconds of lying down.

  12.

  I was still asleep when Noah ran into my room and shook my arm. “Mom! Mom!”

  I burrowed my forehead deeper into the pillow and tried to ignore him.

  He just shook me harder. “Coach Andrew is here! At our house! He said he’s here to play with me and that you knew about it!”

  That got my attention. I sat up. “Oh, my god! What time is it?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me he was coming?”

  “I forgot.” I was only sort of lying: I hadn’t told Noah ahead of time because I wasn’t sure how he was going to react and didn’t want him to have time to decide he didn’t like the idea or to get nervous about how he’d do. I had planned to tell him that morning, before Andrew came—but apparently I’d overslept.

  I jumped out of bed and looked down to see if I was decent. I had slept in sweatpants, so that was fine. I grabbed the sweater I had been wearing the night before and threw it over my tank top to hide the fact that I wasn’t wearing a bra. I shoved my feet into a pair of old Crocs that technically belonged to my mother, who used them for gardening, but that I stole from her whenever mine went missing—which happened a lot.

  I took a deep breath and turned to Noah. “Okay, I’m ready. Where is he?”

  “I don’t know. Outside somewhere. Come on, Mom! Hurry, before he leaves!”

  “You mean you didn’t let him inside?” I ran toward the doorway and he followed close behind.

  “You always say I’m not allowed to let anyone in unless an adult is around.”

  “I know, but—” I cut myself off. He was right. “Where are Grandpa and Grandma?”

  “They went out somewhere. Aunt Mel too.”

  “Shoot.” I raced down the stairs and over to the front door, which Noah had carefully closed, leaving Coach Andrew stranded on the porch. Eleanor Roosevelt was standing sentinel in front of the door, barking at odd intervals, clearly trying to figure out why this person wasn’t either coming in or going away.

  I kneed her aside and flung the door open. Andrew looked at me quizzically. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I overslept.”

  “Is it too early?” he asked. “Should I come back?” The guy was apparently a morning person: his eyes were bright and he was freshly shaved and he smelled all clean and showered. Unlike me. I probably still had sand in my eyes.

  I stepped back to let him in. “No, no, it’s fine. I should have set my alarm. I was up kind of late.”

  “Doing something fun, I hope.” He came inside, his big net bag of balls and cones and stuff slung over his shoulder Santa-style.

  “Baking cupcakes, actually.”

  He winced. “Oh, man, I was just joking about those! You didn’t really need to make them. And you really didn’t need to stay up late to make them.”

  “Well, I did. So what’s the plan? Baseball first? Football? Curling?”

  “Maybe we should start by getting Noah dressed to go outside?”

  That was when I realized that Noah was still in those embarrassingly too-small pajamas. I’d been in such a rush I hadn’t even noticed. “Run upstairs, Noah, and put on some sweatpants and a T-shirt—and a sweatshirt too. It looks cold out.”

  “It’s beautiful,” Andrew said. “Gracie and I went running this morning up in the hills. It’s one of those perfect days.”

  “Too bad we get so few of those here in LA,” I said. “Only about every twenty-four hours or so. You guys go running together a lot?”

  “As often as we can. I can barely keep up with her, though.”

  I realized Noah was still hovering and pointed up the stairs. “Come on, Noah—go get changed.”

  Noah ignored me and said in a trembling voice to Andrew, “Why are you here to play with me? Is it because I’m such a loser at sports? Did Dr. Wilson say you had to do this or he’d kick me out of school?”

  Andrew put his net bag down on the floor then squatted down so he could look Noah right in the eyes. “Of course not,” he said firmly. “This is totally my idea. I just thought we’d have fun playing some games together and then you’d have some new skills to show off in PE. What do you think?”

  “I don’t know,” Noah said. “I’m not sure I want to do this.”

  “Tell you what.” Andrew gave him a friendly arm pat as he rose to his feet. “You go up and get changed and then we’ll head outside and throw the ball around and play some games—whatever sounds like fun to you. If it’s the most miserable experience of your life, tell your mom and she’ll let me know I shouldn’t come again.” He gave me a slightly evil grin. “Knowing her, she’ll be happy to tell me I failed.” He returned his attention to Noah. “But if it’s kind of sort of a little bit fun, then maybe we’ll keep doing it. Does that sound fair to you?”

  Noah nodded slowly. “Only I’ll tell you if I don’t like it, not Mom. She never listens to anything I say.”

  “Noah!” I protested.

  Andrew laughed. “Women are like that, Noah. Get used to it.”

  “Just go get dressed, will you?” I said. Noah finally turned and headed up the stairs, slowly dragging his feet to let us know he still wasn’t sure about this whole thing.

  “So…” Andrew said after we’d watched Noah disappear and the silence was starting to grow awkward. “How’s your weeke
nd going? You have fun at that party last weekend?”

  “Yeah, actually. There were some nice moms there.”

  He nodded. “It was a good group.”

  “Maria Dellaventura kind of fascinates me. When I first met her, I thought she was a total Stepford Wife. But she’s nicer and more interesting than she looks.”

  “There are a lot of moms like that at Fenwick. You look at them and think they’re everything that’s wrong with the Westside of LA—and then you talk to them and they’re actually incredibly nice. Of course, there are a few—” He stopped then said, “Wish we teachers were allowed to vote one or two off the island, if you know what I mean.”

  “Good thing for me you can’t. I’d probably make the list.”

  “Nah. Maybe a few weeks ago. Not now.”

  I felt oddly pleased. And a little hurt. “So who would you vote off?”

  He shook his head. “No way I’m telling. Not without being drunk. And Dr. Wilson would have to be in another country. He’s like a dolphin—he can hear everything, even from miles away.”

  “Do dolphins have good hearing?”

  “I think so. I saw a special about it once. On PBS.”

  “How very educational of you,” I said.

  Noah came clattering back down the stairs. “I guess I’m ready,” he said. He was wearing sweatpants that Cameron had outgrown and handed down to Noah, even though Noah was older. He was also still wearing his pajama top and had forgotten all about a sweatshirt. No wonder it hadn’t taken him long to get dressed. I decided I didn’t care enough about the sweatshirt to make an issue of it. He might get cold, but it was Southern California. He’d live.

  “All right, then,” Andrew said, hoisting his bag of equipment back up on his shoulder. “Let’s check out this so-called backyard of yours.”

  I glanced out the window every now and then to see how it was going. They looked like they were having fun. Andrew pitched balls to Noah, who would either catch them or hit them with a bat—the game varied from time to time. Every once in a while he would hurl himself at Andrew, who would grab him and spin him around. You could hear Noah’s shrieks of laughter even through the closed window.